


because it's nothing like we've ever known

by xxcaribbean



Category: One Direction (Band), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Language, M/M, Music, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcaribbean/pseuds/xxcaribbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it’s an accident of sorts, until it isn’t anymore, and somehow they make it work through two different forms of art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because it's nothing like we've ever known

**Author's Note:**

> because i like having references, especially when it comes to this particular piece, i've got three songs i used as inspiration for two separate scenes within the fic.
> 
> the first one is a random piece. there's not much to it in the story but i thought i'd throw it in because i think it's pretty. - [xx](http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mh81jt3Rzt1s4554io1.mp3) \- it's a piano/instrumental version of tokio hotel's zoom into me.
> 
> the second one is liam's most recognizable piece - [xx](http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mh2hfz7jdG1qhugsyo1.mp3) \- it's originally from one of my favorite movies called rigoletto (very small budget film and can be found on youtube.)
> 
> the third piece is what liam ends up writing - [xx](http://a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mh0vh4BmLl1qhugsyo1.mp3) -this was actually written for someone else for a fanfic in a different fandom where the original creator let people download it. basically, i do not own it; the original composer is no longer online (and if they were i would certainly link them, but it's been at least 2+ years) and if anyone recognizes this then hi.
> 
> i should also note that liam plays the piano, but two of these pieces (more so the second than the third) contain more instruments than just the piano. it's explained in the fic that liam writes via piano until he can transcribe it and add to it with more instruments.

Liam sits in the auditorium and watches as each individual takes a seat up on stage. They’re in rehearsals right now for a piece Liam just finished composing, and he’s putting his work to the test. He’s not sure if each piece will fit together, although he feels it in his bones that it will go down exactly as he’d heard it in his head, the notes passing behind his closed eyes, dancing and create a unique song only he could hear.

He loves it.

Music is his passion; it’s something he’s always dreamed of being a part of and while he’d always thought a different career in music would take center stage, one that involved bright lights and a stage with him directly in the middle, a spotlight shining down as an audience watched only him, but this is what he has now. He’s got a group of willing people, who each play their own instruments, that are able to sit down and help him tune his music, bring it to life and watch as the smile grows on his face as each chord is hit precisely as it should be.

He waits, waits for all of them to settle, waits for the conductor to take his place too and watches as it begins, how the building fills with music, resonates between all of their ears.

It’s perfect, just as he’d imagined.

This is only half of the journey though. As much as Liam’s happy to hear his music play right now, he won’t know if it’s truly a success until it’s played in front of a packed house.

And there’s always a full house, because Liam’s well known. He’d struggled to get where he is today, gone to school, worked with as many people as he could within the industry to secure a place along with the leading composers of today. Liam doesn’t take it for granted either though, simply because he’s sure that there might come a day when it all falls around him. Each piece he puts out has to be a hit otherwise the public could lose faith in him, which is why he’s relieved and anxious, all in one.

He won’t know whether this piece will be a success though. It’s not set to debut until a month or so from now because he has yet to finish the other pieces he’s been working on as well. He writes his own music in sets, presents them in the form of a one night only event and prays that it sells out enough to keep going.

Though really, even if Liam fails he knows he’s well off now not to worry about where his next meal will come from. He’s been successful thus far, and the money has been more than decent.

Sometimes it astonishes him just how important he is to the music world in terms of instrumentalist and those that enjoy pieces of classical music. Liam’s rather modest and doesn’t believe he’s made as much of an impact as he’s done already (he’s no Mozart, but he’s quite young to be a full-fledge, well respected composer) but he’s filled with gratitude and love for those that tell him he’s well on his way to be printed in music books, where his name and his image will be sealed for the rest of his life and even after he’s gone.

It’s not a terrifying thought, not as it should be because Liam would like to believe he’s significant enough to leave a mark on the world.

He sighs. The music dwindles down and the song ends and people are left clapping and turning towards him.

Liam smiles, stands up from his chair and thanks them all for coming and being wonderful enough to play his music. He waits around though, can’t leave until some of the musicians have left so as not to come off as anything other than polite.

He fidgets with the papers in his hand, glancing across the music sheets and realizing that he’s just completed another short, sweet symphony. Sometimes it amazes him what he’s able to do. Reality crashes back into him at the most unpleasant times and he’s able to look at his work as if it’s otherworldly, like someone else had written it altogether, but his handwriting, since he always carries around his original copies, is most definitely his script.

It’s messy and black, ink marks staining the side of the pages. He can even see fingerprints that mar the corners of each page, where he’s flipped through it all, reading it over to make sure everything is in place as it should be.

“Liam!”

He turns at the sound of his name, glances towards the back of the auditorium to see Harry walking down the isle.

“You are a liar.”

Liam blinks but doesn’t know what to say.

“I hate it when you say your music isn’t great.”

Oh, right. Liam remembers now, how he’d told Harry he’d finished his piece, claiming it wasn’t worth coming down to the concert hall to listen to.

Then again, Harry doesn’t listen much.

“I thought you had classes?”

Harry shrugs and takes a seat in one of the chairs despite the fact that Liam’s still standing up.

“I cancelled them, and I doubt anyone’s complaining. Less work for me, less work for my students. Everyone’s happy!”

Liam shakes his head and uses the back of the chairs in the row in front of him to lean against. He feels like he needs to indulge in small talk first, not really sure how he should bring the topic of the performance up. Harry’s an all around nice guy, but Liam still has his moments of complete skepticism simply because his friend is a lot more outgoing, bolder in everything he does, and while that also means Harry’s very open about a lot of things, doesn’t take everything anyone says to heart, the subject of his work is different. He’s rather on edge when anyone talks to him about it because he’s very aware his in a position for someone to come up to him and tell him how awful it is.

“So you decided to come down here after all then?” he manages to say. It’s a nice segue into what information he’s really looking for.

Harry nods. “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.”

Liam smiles in gratitude.

“And, it’s great. I may not know all that technical shit critics talk about, but I don’t think you’ve got any reason to worry; so stop it because I know what you’re thinking right now.”

Liam doesn’t like to believe he’s an open book, but Harry’s always managed to prove him wrong.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m finding it harder to write these days, if I’m honest.”

He receives a look from Harry, one of uneasiness and slight desperation. The younger lad knows how much this means to Liam.

“You’ve been writing constantly for the past two years; maybe it’s time you take a break?”

The question rolls off his tongue dubiously. Liam’s always been the one who’s finished everything he’s started, and even asking him that might as well be an insult.

“Harry…”

His friend waves him off. “I get it. You’ve got work; it all needs to be finished by a deadline. Same old story, Liam.”

He sounds saddened, in a way, like he can’t imagine making an effort as much as Liam has always done. And it’s not even that Harry’s a slacker, Liam knows, because he’d had to work his ass off to become a History professor in the first place, but even then, Harry’s always been the one that luck tends to shine down on.

He can and probably always will be the one who’s a professional professor by day and drunk, party animal by night. Liam accounts it to his good looks and the curls of his hair. Everyone loves them. He doesn’t blame them or Harry.

“I’m sorry,” he admits, fingering at the papers in his hand. He’s got nothing else left to offer. He’s feels quite bad for not being as loose as everyone else.

“Don’t be. You wouldn’t be you then, and we can’t have that.”

It brings a small smile to Liam’s face because Harry’s always been a charmer, even if he’s not trying to be.

“Right,” Harry starts. He sits up in his seat and looks around the room. It’s mostly empty by now, save for a few people packing up and going slower because they’re talking amongst one another. “We should celebrate.”

Liam’s brow furrows, and he shakes his head because there’s only one reason Harry would ever bring that up to Liam. He doesn’t party, likes to stay in with a good book and a nice cup of tea and he’s fine.

“You’re meeting Louis again, aren’t you?”

Harry manages to duck his head. His curls fall over the front of his face and it skewers Liam’s view.

“Is that a problem?” Liam hears.

Liam breathes in and releases it. He ponders the question. He’s really not in a position to judge, he guesses, and it’s not like it’s really that big of a deal, but Liam’s always worried a little too much for his own good, and he’s sure he’ll have worry lines etched into his face by the time he’s in his thirties because of his nature.

“No, I guess not.”

Harry lifts up his head, purses his lips.

“You know how I feel about it. It’d be different if he wasn’t your student.”

His mate manages to slump in his seat, evident that he’s not happy with Liam’s views on what he considered to be one of the most happiest relationships he’s ever been in.

“He’s… he’s different, Liam. And I just want you to like him.”

Liam looks down at his friend, and realizes that although he’s only a year or so older than him, Harry looks way younger than his age, and he suddenly feels like a proper ass for even saying anything at all.

He knows Harry’s always gone out with the wrong kind of people. It’d been Liam’s job, when they were younger, to drag Harry back home after finding him at a party, drunk off his arse and no clue where he was at.

Of course, Liam thinks, everyone has those party days, where they’d like to skip school and be carefree for once. And too, it wasn’t like Harry ever got into anything hardcore. No drugs and the like.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go tonight-”

Harry’s face suddenly lights up at the words but then falls as soon as Liam speaks again.

“-but on the condition that I’m allowed to stay sober and leave early.”

Harry manages to groan, but then he’s standing up from his seat and resting a hand against Liam’s shoulder.

“As long as you come.” Harry’s head tilts and his eyebrows rise in an all-knowing kind of look, and Liam only manages to shake his head and smile.

“Of course,” he promises.

And with that, Harry’s walking off without giving Liam any information as to where they’ll be having said drinks, though he figures that’s still up in the air and he’ll be gifted with a text later.

So Liam spends the rest of the afternoon at his house, in his study slash music room, where there are various sets of instruments and a large, black grand piano that sits near the French double doors.

They lead outside to the patio of Liam’s large house, where there’s a swimming pool and a gazebo with a hot tub and various lawn chairs that are skewered around the area until it expands into green grass and empty land and trees. There’s a forest just several yard away from the house, dense trees that Liam’s always thought about taking down but hasn’t had the heart to do it.

He sits at the piano, tinkering with the keys while a pencil rests just behind his ear, waiting for Liam to use it.

It’s how he writes, most of the time. The room is spacious and grand, wood floors, white walls. The calming effect it has on him does wonders for his nerves, and it’s the main reason he’d bought the house, pleased that if anything, money could buy him this if not happiness.

Mainly, it reminds him of an old dance studio. There’s a set of mirrors against one of the walls near the corner. There’s only two, which are full length but it’s something he avoids. He hasn’t had the time to get them removed but they rest there, the only evidence that it’s not just him in this big house, that his reflection is there watching him too, calculating his every move and mistake.

Liam closes the fallboard before resting is elbow’s the cool, black wood. His head falls into his hands and he sighs.

He doesn’t have much time to fall into a sour mood though before his phone is buzzing in his pocket. And when he slips it out and reads the name Harry, he regrets even agreeing to go out tonight.

“Hello?” he says, bringing the phone up to his ear. He can already hear a great deal of commotion in the background. He contemplates on whether he should lie, make up a story about not being able to go, but Harry is his friend and he hasn’t been outside for quite awhile, not with work taking up every aspect of his life, and he knows that his mate would be disappointed for not showing his face.

“Sorry,” Harry responds, and while it’s not slurred as it normally would be when Harry gets drunk, Liam can already tell that he’s downed a few drinks. “You should come, Liam.”

“I was planning on it. You mind telling me where I need to go?” Liam doesn’t mean for his tone to come off as annoyed, but he flinches and squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the small, dull pain he can feel growing behind his eyes.

Harry though, of course, completely ignores the way Liam sounds and rattles off an address.

When he hangs up the phone, Liam removes himself from the room, setting down the pencil from behind his ear against the piano and on top of the music sheet he’d been writing on before heading on over to the address that Harry had blurted out quickly over the phone.

It’s a fifteen minute journey, one filled with silence save the GPS navigating him to where he needs to go before he’s pulling up to a parking lot outside a bar that’s got a neon light in the window, blinking every so often because the bulb is about to go out.

He gives himself a couple of minutes to himself, breathing in and relaxing before heading inside. Liam notices how it’s crowded right off the bat. There’s a bar and then there’s tables that sit on the opposite side of the room, and in one of the corners there’s a mock stage that holds a lone microphone where he’s sure the patrons will be going after in an hour or two, convinced that they can sing despite the fact that most of them will be drunk, if not fully gone by then.

He spots Harry quickly, sitting in a booth beside Louis with another male accompanying them. It looks like they’re counting before throwing back a shot of alcohol.

“Liam!” Harry shouts out over the ruckus of everyone else.

He makes his way over, smiling and taking a seat beside the blonde. Niall is his name, Liam knows because he works with Harry, another professor of sorts.

“Didn’t think you’d come, mate,” Louis ends up saying. His eyes are already sparkling and wet with all the drinks flowing through his body.

Liam gives a tight smile anyway. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

Louis laughs then, almost throwing his head back at the comment although it hadn’t really been all that funny it all. Liam meant it regardless of how he felt about the relationship he had with Harry.

“You’ll warm up to me one day, Liam. Just you wait and see.” He says it with confidence, enough so that Harry ends up slapping him against the chest with the back of his hand.

“Cut it out.” But there’s a grin spread across his face.

“So, Liam,” Niall chimes in, deciding to break up the tension Liam feels he’s giving off. He’s grateful. “Harry said you’d finished with your music?”

At that, Harry excuses himself and leaves the table for the bar, and Liam eyes him, wishing he’d come back and not leave him with his own set of friends.

And really, it’s not like Liam has a problem with them, but he only tends to associate with people who are in the same business he’s in because he’d never bothered to branch out further than the people he’d met when composing music.

It makes him sound like a prick, and it’s why he’s trying tonight to be okay with this. Mainly, he just feels like he’s got nothing in common with them even though he’s hung out with them several times before.

“Well, a section to a much bigger piece,” he replies. He turns his attention back to Niall, watches as the other lad brings his beer up to his lips to take a swig.

“Harry says it’s good.”

Liam snorts, watches as said friend comes back over with a bottle of beer and sets it down in front of him.

“He is good; he just doesn’t believe it.”

Liam tries his best not to blush under his mate’s tone of conviction but doesn’t say anything to correct him. He’d like to believe the compliment, but he’d rather not be rude either by trying to dissuade his friends own belief, so he leaves it by nursing on his drink.

“You lot should hear some of it sometime.”

He sputters, looks wide eyed at Harry but there’s two sets of okay’s and he’s suddenly found himself not really knowing what to say.

So he protests.

“Really, you wouldn’t like it. It’s really classical and not anything-”

“Wasn’t your last concert sold out?”

Liam snaps his mouth shut and lets the noise of the entire bar drown out any other thoughts he has.

“I-it..”

Louis gives a cheeky grin and leans back, throwing his arm over Harry’s shoulders. “I’m not entirely clueless you know, and Harry,” he turns to look at his boyfriend, “love, you didn’t tell me he was modest. What with his standing and everything, you’d think he’d brag a little more.”

Niall’s laugh finds its way out of his throat, and Harry even glances over at Liam to make sure he’s doing okay.

And he is; he really is.

Liam slumps his shoulders because he can rest easy now in the presence of all three of them.

“That’d be rude, especially when I’m sitting beside two professors and…” He trails off, eyeing Louis because he’s not sure what the other lad aims to be or if he’s even got a degree in anything.

“I’m flighty, and haven’t picked anything yet,” he admits, catching on to what Liam’s aiming for.

“Right,” he clears his throat. “Well, even then, I’m sure whatever it is you decide to do will be much more… helpful in regards to society.”

He can feel Harry’s gaze on his but he doesn’t look over at him until he tuts, rolls his eyes and announces, “I’m going to grab some shots, and you’re going to have on too, Li.”

Liam doesn’t protest, just waits til’ Harry gets back before he downs the liquid in one gulp, trying his best not to taste it as it slides down his throat, burning and warm in his gut.

After that, he feels loose. He sticks to beer after that, not wanting to get drunk because he still has to drive home, if he can even manage that later, but the rest of the night he’s talkative and full of laughter.

It goes smooth, more so than he thought it would’ve given the fact that he’s only met Louis and Niall a handful of times, but by the time last call is announced, he feels like he’s known them longer than a mere two or three hours.

And when they all head off in different directions, Niall piss drunk but apartment just off the corner, with both Harry and Louis taking care of themselves regardless of Liam insisting he drive them home, Liam feels more centered and full of amity towards the night.

It’s a bit chilly now that it’s darker out, and the first thing Liam does is turn on the heat when he starts his car. It takes a moment or two for it to circulate but as he waits, he pulls out onto the street and heads for home.

There’s not much on his mind, except the fact that today had been a decent day. He’d gotten a lot of work done, went to rehearsals and is even sure he made two new friends along the way.

The pressure behind his eyes grows, the very one from earlier. He’d discarded the pain for easy conversation and horrid karaoke. And maybe that, along with the heat, causes Liam to close his eyes for a moment or two, and he swears it was only a second, before he’s running into something with his car and slamming on his breaks.

His eyes grow wide, arms locked straight in front of him while his hands curl against the steering wheel and turn white. He just sits there for seconds on end, internally panicking and wondering what the fuck he just did.

Quickly, and as his mind finally comes back to him, Liam puts the car in park, unbuckles his seat belt, letting it slide back into its original holding before carefully opening the door to step out.

The cold drenches his body once again, sending a shiver down his spin, and he regrets not wearing a jacket. He’s hesitant at first, hoping against hope that it’s nothing more than an inanimate object or at the very least, an animal that was hit.

A groan is emitted from somewhere ahead of him and he pales.

“Oh god,” he breathes and rushes around the side of the car to find a man lying on the ground trying his best to sit up. “No!”

He moves forward then, goes over to the male’s side. Liam reaches out a hand, but then pulls it back just as quickly because he’s not sure if he should touch him. “You shouldn’t sit up.”

Eyes blink up at him and Liam stares down, completely frozen.

“I’m fine.”

The man manages to sit up without Liam’s help and brings a hand up to his head but removes it just as quickly with a hiss. The tips of his fingers are stained red and Liam sucks in a breath.

“Shit, I need to call an ambulance.”

He can’t see the lads face now, the way that his head is bowed down, staring at his fingers, but Liam manages to catch the rather large gash on his face and the wounds that travel up the side of his arm.

“Just… don’t move.” Liam clenches his jaw and hesitates for a moment to remove himself from the man’s side, not sure if he really knows what’s going on. So when he tries to stand up to get to his car when a hand reaches out for him and grips his wrist.

“Please.”

It’s nothing short of a whisper but Liam hears it nonetheless and leans back down to where he’d been hunched beside the figure.

“I need to get help. You might have a concussion.”

The hand is still curled around his wrist, but Liam doesn’t make a move to pry them off. He watches as the lad in front of him turns his head to look up at Liam with hazel eyes and blood dripping down from a wound against his temple.

“You can’t do that,” the man says. His voice is firmer than before and he holds Liam’s gaze, trying to will him to stay.

“Y-you’re hurt,” Liam says, losing the ability to think clearly as each second ticks by. “I need to get you help.”

The hold on his wrist tightens at that before there’s another reply. “I’ll be fine.”

Liam raises his eyebrows and looks him over with wide eyes. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’ll heal.”

The next thing Liam realizes is that the stranger is now trying to lift himself up off the ground, and he goes into panic.

“You can’t do this. Just sit here and I’ll call for an ambulance, and then we can get you checked out, yeah?”

But his pleas go on deaf ears as the lad stands up and brushes off his pants as if nothing had ever occurred.

Liam stands too, very wary and very aware that they’re out in the middle of the street. He’s quite thankful for the fact that the bar had been minutes away from town, a lesser known area, where it’s not as populated at this time of night, but then again, they’re out here alone and there’s nothing Liam can do to fix the situation unless he calls for help, which the stranger has blatantly asked him not to do.

So he gets slightly angry, which isn’t the exact reaction he should have at this moment. If anyone should be mad, it’d be the guy he almost ran down. And anyway, what was he even doing out here walking at this time of night?

“Are you stupid?” he says and while there’s a thought in the back of his mind that tells him to keep his mouth shut, that he has no right to be mad, he still allows it to happen. “You’re not okay, and I’d like to help. What were you even doing out here?”

The male, who Liam’s come to find, has a mass of dark hair and tan skin, and the only reason he can see this is because of his headlights that are nearly blinding most of his vision anyway, is looking around slightly dazed, and his gut twists.

“Zayn.”

“What?”

“My name is Zayn.”

Liam huffs but nods. “Okay, Zayn. That’s good to know. It’s good that we both know that but you still didn’t answer my question.” His tone is slightly softer now, and his shoulders slump in defeat when he realizes that he might not get his way on this, that if Zayn really wanted help, he would’ve ask for it by now.

“I was walking into town,” is the only answer Liam receives so he bites his lips and watches as the cold air causes goose bumps to form their away against Zayn’s skin.

“At this time of night?” There’s a million and one questions swirling through his mind now that everything’s settled, though he doesn’t take his gaze off of Zayn, just in case.

He only gets a shrug in response.

Liam takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Is there anything I can do for you then? It’s cold out, and you’re bleeding; which I still think you should go to the hospital for…” he trails off, not wanting to force the issue again. He has half a mind to put Zayn in his car and drive him to the closest hospital if that’s what it takes to make sure he’s okay and to ease Liam’s mind, but he’s also positive he can’t force Zayn to do anything he wouldn’t want to.

Zayn blinks up at him. The blood from his cut on his temple is still oozing but it’s become matted so that there isn’t as much flowing from it. The slices on his arm bleed out too, but they don’t look as deep or as bad as the one on Zayn’s head.

Zayn opens his mouth or at least that’s what it looks like he tries to do, pulling his arm forward and holding his hand out in some weird gesture in order to address Liam, but the words never come out, and Liam waits on baited breath to hear what he has to say.

But again, the words don’t come out and before Liam knows it, Zayn’s eyes fold shut, and he’s crumpling to the ground.

He doesn’t hit the pavement though because Liam’s there in a matter of seconds, not quite sure how he’d gotten the reflex to actually move just in time to catch the lad. He’s got a grip around the man’s waist, arms encircling his small body – and it’s quite small, Liam notes, as if he hasn’t been eating – before he lugs him over to the passenger side of his car.

Liam’s in a complete state of panic now, but he’s trying his best to keep the lid on top of his rising emotions. He’s got on unconscious man in his arms, one he’d practically run over and could’ve killed; it’s late and dark and this would be so much easier if Liam could just haul Zayn’s ass to the hospital.

But he can’t do that, so as he lowers Zayn into the seat, buckles him up in a seat belt just to make sure nothing else bad will happen to the lad, Liam returns to his side of the car and gets in.

He shifts the car into drive, and he goes. His hands shake, and his eyes are wide and every few seconds or so his gaze shifts to Zayn, just to make sure he’s there and alive, that his breath doesn’t turn shallow and die on him in the car.

“Oh god,” Liam whines.

Normally he’s the poster boy for self control, the one who knows what needs to be done in any given state of panic because Liam doesn’t allow for shit like that to happen. He worries and he stresses, but never fully freaks out about anything.

Except now.

Liam decides to go home. It may not be the smartest move; actually, no, he knows it’s the dumbest move he could make but he does it anyway because well, it’s home, and it’s safe and maybe Zayn just needs to sleep it off. He’ll wake up tomorrow and he’ll be fine, and Liam can send him on his way as if none of this had happened.

He frowns and takes a deep breath, counting down from ten in his head as he pulls into his drive way where the garage lights flicker on at his arrival which allows him to view the front yard.

Liam cuts the engine of the car, looks at Zayn and licks his lips and contemplates the reality of the situation. He watches as Zayn’s chest moves up and down, that air is still going into his lungs quite perfectly and that he has no need to start worrying completely, yet.

Liam climbs out of the car and walks to the passenger side, carefully helping Zayn out too although he’s unconscious. He makes sure his head doesn’t hit the top of the car and that he’s leaning up against Liam’s side so that he can close the door of the car and fish his keys out of his pocket.

From there, Liam picks Zayn up bridal style, figuring it easier for him to get them both inside, and once he’s managed to unlock the door, the first thing he does is find a spare bedroom with a bed and lay Zayn down on it. The blood has completely stopped flowing from his wounds, but Liam inspects them anyway and heads to his own bathroom for towels and alcohol.

When he returns to the room, Liam finds that Zayn’s still unconscious, unfortunately, before going over to his side and addressing his cuts.

He cleans them out as best as he can, glad that he’s not squeamish when it comes to blood. Liam takes his time with the wound on Zayn’s head though, careful not to press it too hard or cause it to open up again.

Liam takes the opportunity to study the man. He hadn’t been able to get a clear view of his face out in the dark where the only light given was from his car’s headlights. He takes in ratty old jeans, a plain t-shirt, almost worn down to their soles shoes and an unfamiliar, angled face that goes by the name of Zayn.

Liam places the bottle of rubbing alcohol and the towel he’d used on the nightstand next to the bed. At the moment, he’s at a complete loss for what he should do next, try to wake up him? Or maybe he should check to see if he has any other injuries but he stops that thought because that would mean removing clothing and that’s far beyond what Liam’s willing to go, especially without Zayn having any idea.

So instead, Liam removes himself from the bed and sits on the floor, back pressed up against the wall. He debates with himself on calling one of his friends, but he knows they’d gone home drunk and there’s no way they’d be able to get here in their current states, and either way, they’re probably passed out by now.

Liam’s not even aware of the time, but he stares up at the bed, watches the unconscious body as his chest moves up and down and before he even knows it, he’s nodding off.

x.x.x.x

Liam jolts awake and is very aware of the pain in his neck. He lets out a noise of discomfort when he feels like he’s being watched. The memory of last night floods his mind again and he whips his head up to find a pair of hazel eyes staring back at him.

“You’re awake!” he nearly shouts, causing the other man to flinch away in shock. Liam hurriedly stands and almost reaches out for Zayn before he realizes what he’s doing and drops his arm. “I thought… I mean, shit.” He runs his hand through his hair while simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief, but he knows he’s not out of the woods yet. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

Zayn’s not quick to answer as Liam had expected him to, instead he shifts around on the bed and blinks back at Liam and dread then fills his stomach because oh my god what if he doesn’t remember anything at all, let alone his own name?

“You know who you are, right? You know you’re name and…”

“I’m Zayn, and you hit me with your car last night.”

Liam recoils at the way that it sounds, though Zayn doesn’t seem angry or upset, which is unnerving all in itself.

“It’s okay, you know. I’m fine.”

Liam’s prudent enough as it is but this has him pursing his lips and wondering how to address the problem.

“I’ll take your word for it, for now. But why don’t I make us breakfast and see how you’re doing later?”

Liam leaves no room for any kind of complaint and scurries off towards the kitchen. He knows he’s in over his head and this situation has clearly gotten the better of him, and slightly out of hand too, but he feels like he needs to work his way up to asking Zayn the tougher questions he has for him.

But before he can even make it to the kitchen, a door creaks open so when he turns back, Liam doesn’t have to go far to see that the front door is left open just the slightest bit, and through the window, he can see Zayn walking off down his driveway.

“Hey, wait a minute!” he calls after Zayn, but the man doesn’t stop walking, just heads for the road as if he hadn’t heard Liam call after him. “Zayn.” Liam catches up with him without a problem before Zayn decides to stop and look at him with the same blank expression on his face he’d had when Liam had woken up. “What are you doing?” He’s exasperated, really; this entire indecent has taken a lot out of him and Liam can only image how Zayn feels about it all.

Zayn turns his head though, looks back at Liam’s house for a moment before turning and staring at Liam with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and only then does Liam see the worry in his eye, which causes his brow to uncrease and rise.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters and shakes his head, taking a step back from Zayn. “I can only imagine what’s going through your head right now, and whatever it is, isn’t what’s going on here.” Liam ends up stuffing both of his hands into the pockets of his trousers as a way to show the other lad that he means no harm. “Let me explain, yeah?”

Zayn only gives him a curt nod.

So Liam blows out a breath of air and laughs nervously. “I was out with some friends, and I’d only had a drink or two, I swear, nothing to get me drunk, though now I’m regretting it completely because after we went our separate ways, I decided to drive home – stupid, yes – and ended up, uh,” Liam chokes on the words but eventually manages to spit the out, “hitting you, you know, with my car, as we’ve established.”

A wracking guilt takes over Liam and he scuffs his shoe on the ground, bowing his head so Zayn can’t fully see his anguish.

“So I got out of the car because I didn’t know what I’d hit at first, but then I found you and I was going to call an ambulance but you said not to,” he swallows heavily, not liking the way this story sounds to his own ears and so when he picks it back up again, opens his mouth to speak, it all comes out in a jumbled, rambling mess of words, “and then you stood up as if you were just going to walk away like nothing had happened but then you passed out, and I brought you to my house instead because I wasn’t sure if you still wanted to go to the hospital or not, and now I’m beginning to see how awful this really looks, and I just need to know you’re okay, okay?”

Liam wonders if he looks manic by now, and he still doesn’t bother looking at Zayn, otherwise he just might cry from frustration.

“What’s your name?” Liam hears, which has him finally looking up into eyes that are soft and a face that looks gentle and not as rigid as before.

“I didn’t tell you?” Liam asks softly.

Zayn shakes his head.

“Oh, well, I’m Liam Payne.”

“Zayn Malik,” is the other man’s response and Liam returns that with a smile.

x.x.x.x

They’re sitting at Liam’s dining table, both across from one another while Liam eats and Zayn picks at his food. Liam had made it clear that he really hadn't meant any harm; he just wanted to know that Zayn was okay enough to actually leave.

Mostly it was because he felt like he needed to make up for what he’d done, but then again, Liam didn’t want to come off as him trying to make the situation better by giving Zayn things.

Fortunately enough, Zayn said he’d understood and accepted Liam’s offer of food, both making their way back inside while Liam got busy on making their eggs.

“Thank you.”

The silence is interrupted by Zayn’s voice but Liam shakes his head and snorts. “You shouldn’t be saying that.”

“Maybe, but you listened.”

The moods most definitely shifted, and it’s the right time to bring up every question he has, but Liam’s averse in asking, completely aware of it ruining the decent atmosphere they’d been settled in.

And before he can fully form his first question, Zayn beats him to the punch by saying exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

“I wouldn’t have been able to pay for it.”

Liam licks his lips and sets down his fork on his plate.

“What do you mean?”

Zayn continues to use the fork to push at his eggs until he sighs and sets the utensil down as well. “I don’t have insurance, and there’s no way I would’ve been able to pay the hospital bill. That’s why I asked you not to take me.”

Zayn won’t look at Liam now, but not in the same way Liam had done earlier. It’s not out of guilt but one of shame and embarrassment.

“Zayn,” Liam starts, but the other lad is shaking his head before he even gets the rest of his sentence out.

“It’s fine, really, and it’s not that big of a deal.” He shrugs. “I made it out alive so…” There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth but it’s not one of happiness at all.

“I would’ve taken care of the bill.”

Zayn rubs his nose at his nervousness but he shakes his head again. “No, I wouldn’t have let you.”

“Zayn, this could’ve been a lot more serious than it was; you do realize that, right?”

The other male chooses to narrow his eyes. “But it wasn’t.”

Liam decides to drop it, not bothering to try and further his point by possibly starting an argument. It wouldn’t be worth it at this moment in time, especially since Liam can see that Zayn’s even reluctant to share any more information about himself.

Instead, Liam leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “So we’ve gotten through one of my questions. You still haven’t told me what you were doing walking at that time of night, especially with how cold it was.”

“Because I’m my own person and can do what I want?” It sounds defensive, which it is in one respect, but it’s also because of the fact that Zayn really would rather not share what he does in his spare time to a complete stranger who’s own smile looks more expensive than what he’s wearing. Zayn clearly knows that Liam’s got money, and there’s also a good possibility that he looks down on others who aren’t as well off as he himself.

Which, to be honest, is quite rude on his part because Liam’s been nothing but kind up to this point, but there’s also the fact that he’d practically ran him over with his car and him being nice is the only way to make up for what guilt he must still feel.

A headache seems to be forming behind his eyes now.

“You’re right, but usually they don’t forget a coat either.”

It’s a pointed statement, one that has Zayn gritting his teeth and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Look, since you seem to be so nosy and feel like you need to know more about me so you can make yourself feel better because of what happened, things are a little rough for me right now, and not everyone is well-off like you.” Zayn stands then, the chair scraping against the floor. “Either way you’ve done enough, and I hope your conscious is now clear. I need go to.”

Liam watches with wide eyes as Zayn leaves, the front door opening and slamming shut. He then runs a hand over his face, not quite sure what just happened but then again very well aware that his sensitivity towards someone else made him come off as an asshole who thought everyone had it made.

Liam removes himself from the table, goes over to the front door and opens it to see if Zayn is really gone. And although he’s expecting the other lad to be down the road by now, especially the way he’d stormed off, he instead finds Zayn leaning over near one of his bushes, retching.

“Zayn, shit.” He moves forward quickly enough and lays a hand against Zayn’s back only to have the other lad shove him off. But in the end, Liam doesn’t give a fuck and manages to convince to come back into the house and into the bathroom.

By the time he’s done emptying out his stomach, Liam figures out that Zayn’s got a fever and his cheeks are flushed red. So he ends up making him go back into the guest room where Liam grabs a waste basket to put beside the bed and a glass of water before leaving Zayn alone to fall asleep.

From then on, the day consists of Liam tinkering around in his studio and checking up on Zayn every hour or so to see if he needs anything. He has a hard time concentrating on anything other than the fact that there’s no possible way Liam’s accident could’ve caused Zayn to get sick, and there’s a lot more that Zayn has yet to tell him. Liam though, just assumes, for now, that whatever kind of bug he’s got had most definitely been caused by being out late in the cold.

And by the time he goes to bed that night after checking up on a still slumbering Zayn for one last time, he drifts off to sleep in hope that tomorrow will only be better.

x.x.x.x

A continuous ringing is what wakes Liam up in the morning, which turns out to be his phone, and without looking at the id, he answers with a sleepy, “hello.”

“Liam?”

He groans.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, well, it’s nearing noon and you’re not here for rehearsals.”

“What?” Liam hasn’t slept in this late in a long while and even then he doesn’t feel completely rested. “Fuck, okay, either go on without me or just go ahead and cancel for today. There’s no way I’m going to be able to make it in.”

The woman on the other line hums in disapproval but she tells him that he better call the next time he won’t be there before hanging up on him.

He was supposed to go to another rehearsal for his new piece, adding extra things into his other sets of songs to make sure it flowed. Liam already knows how a majority of it sounds, but he needs to make sure it’ll work nicely with every other piece that’ll be presented.

And of course, he’s still not done with this project, not having been able to completely concentrate yesterday with all that had gone on.

Speaking of which, Liam gets out of bed and manages to throw on a shirt and some sweatpants before making his way downstairs, and has every intention of checking on Zayn to see if he’s okay, but instead of fully making it into the hallway towards the guest room, Liam finds that he doesn’t have to go searching for the lad any longer.

Zayn’s curled up on the couch, asleep. He’s pretty much hunched in on himself, arms curled up against his body while he’s legs are bent at the knees. Liam takes in the site and a soft smile grows on his face. Zayn’s only taking up half the sofa and looks a lot smaller than he had the day before.

Liam then takes in the rest of his surroundings as he moves in closer to the blanket laid out on the back of the couch to drape over Zayn’s body, and finds a myriad of papers scattered about on the coffee table and some even resting on the floor.

He goes to pick them up, knowing he hadn’t left anything out himself and whenever he bends down, grabbing each piece, he sees that there’s writing marked onto each page. There are plenty of scribbles too, where words have been marked out and slashed through. Liam also can’t help but notice that a lot of the papers contain doodles, little pieces of art, some with captions and others with funny faces.

He turns his gaze onto Zayn, watches as his breathing is even and wonders if this is all him, if he’d gotten up in the middle of the night in order to let out his frustrations. It’s not like Liam would be upset about it, but if Zayn was sick, Liam would’ve rather him stay in bed than migrate to the living room.

Liam stacks the pages back onto the coffee table. He’s already looked some of them over, and he feels like he’s invaded enough privacy as it is, so he leaves them there and lets Zayn continue sleeping while he heads to his study and closes the door in hopes of coming up with another note or two to write down for his music.

Liam’s not sure how much time passes but whenever he’s in the middle of fiddling with the piano, pressing his fingers into the black and white keys to hear his song played out, there’s a knock at the door that startles him.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open, and then Zayn appears, hesitant and barefoot. He still looks tired with his hair messy and eyes glassy.

“How are you feeling?”

But Zayn shakes his head, and Liam understands.

“Is there something you need then?” He keeps his voice down like he’s not sure what he needs to be doing. This entire situation is already awkward enough as it is and Liam would really like to smooth things out but not until Zayn’s feeling up for it, which he clearly isn’t.

Zayn opens his mouth to speak but he only stumbles over his words the first few times before his gaze drops to the ground.

“It’s okay, Zayn.”

“Would it be alright if I had a bath? A shower would even be fine; I just…”

Liam’s sure Zayn knows where the bathroom is by now, having spent some time in there last night but Liam doesn’t keep it full of products because he rarely has anyone over anyway.

Plus, Zayn’ll also need a change of clothes.

“Just give me a moment,” he says, standing up from his position at the piano to make his way towards Zayn. “I’ll get you what you need.”

He leaves Zayn where he is and when he gets what he needs and places them in the bathroom, Liam’s surprised that Zayn’s not already there, and instead finds him back in his studio. He’s travelled further into the room and is looking at one side of the wall, the one that Liam has purposely placed the piano away from so that whenever he is working, he doesn’t look up and see the countless awards he’s won, pictures of him that’s been taken or the plaques of records that are tinted gold and silver.

Liam rubs at the back of his neck before he speaks. He’s quite nervous about this and now wants to know what Zayn thinks of it all. “I don’t even remember half of them,” he admits.

His voice startles Zayn and he takes a step back from inspecting a group of pictures.

“I’m sorry,” he says and looks embarrassed that he’d been caught in a room that he obviously had no business being in.

But Liam waves him off, “You’re fine.”

And Zayn’s shoulders release their tension. “I thought I knew you. You looked familiar this morning, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Really? Because for a moment I thought that you thought I brought you here for… well.” He shrugs his shoulders, not really sure if he wants to continue on with his thought because now it sounds stupid to his own ears and maybe Zayn hadn’t even been thinking he was slightly deranged for bringing him home.

Zayn just shakes his head though as if none of that matters anymore, and Liam clears his throat and is about to inform the other lad that he can go shower now, but he’s interrupted by an excited face full of curiosity.

“Your music is incredible.”

“Uhm.”

“Really, Liam. Look at all of these.” His hand sweeps out in front of him, showing Liam everything he’s accomplished in his life as if he hadn’t seen it before. It only makes him blush and feel rather abashed by it all.

“It’s something,” he says, but it comes out more melancholy than happy.

Zayn notices, and Liam wouldn’t be surprised now if he thinks he’s arrogant for not be as appreciative as he probably should be.

“You don’t think so?”

Liam moves around to his piano and sits on the bench. Zayn’s back is towards him but he turns around so that he can see Liam.

“They’re only awards that people have given me because I’ve done a good job, but that’s not what counts.”

Zayn looks like he doesn’t understand and wants to question Liam, but he doesn’t and leaves Liam to continue.

“I just mean that I don’t do it for the awards or for any of the shit that comes along with it; I could care less if I’m recognized because as long as I’m making something someone enjoys then those awards mean nothing.”

It’s more than a heavy subject, and something Liam’s not sure he needs to explain out loud, but it’s the first time he’s actually admitted that while being on top and having a fantastic career is great, there’s the other side of things, the superficiality of it all that he thinks Zayn might be able to understand.

“So you’re saying it’s not enough?”

Liam chuckles. “It’s more than enough, more than I ever dreamed of actually.”

It goes silent then for a few moments until Zayn shuffles on his feet and adds, “Wish I could say the same.”

There’s a distant look in his eyes as Liam watches the other lad. He looks like he’s aged about ten years in the past two seconds and it startles him because as young as Zayn looks, there shouldn’t ever be a reason for him to look so defeated.

“I’m gonna go take that shower now,” he says softly and before Liam can affirm what he heard, Zayn’s walking out of the room.

x.x.x.x

Liam eventually wanders into the kitchen, his stomach finally protesting after not having had anything to eat at all.

Zayn’s sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch again with those papers Liam had put on the coffee table and for a moment, Liam had wondered if Zayn would’ve noticed he’d taken looked at them, if he read them and invaded his privacy.

Instead, Zayn had come out of the bathroom, hair still wet but looking better than he had earlier, only to sit on the couch and not bother Liam.

“You feeling up for some food?” he calls out, but Zayn answers him with a no and soon enough Liam settles down beside him on the couch with a sandwich, nothing overly fancy.

“Mind if I ask what you’re doing?” He takes a bit and looks over at Zayn who’s got the pencil wrapped up in his hand.

“Trying to write.”

Liam chews but as the seconds tick by, he realizes just how out of the loop he’s been in regards to actually having company over. He’s perfectly fine interacting with people when it comes to his work, but anything outside of that, Liam’s always had difficulty.

Zayn’s then moving his hand back and forth furiously, scribbling out something he’s clearly messed up on. Once he’s done, and with a sigh, Zayn sets down the stack of papers back onto the coffee table along with the pencil.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m using this.”

“S’fine,” Liam replies around a mouth full of food before swallowing and muttering sorry under his breath for talking with his mouth full.

“Can I ask you something?”

Liam shrugs and takes another bite of his food.

“What do you do when you’re at a loss for inspiration?”

Liam’s not prepared for that kind of question but he gives himself a moment or two before replying. “Well,” he starts, because isn’t this process different for everyone? “Sometimes I don’t mess with whatever I’m working on because then I know I’m forcing something that doesn’t need to be there.”

He bites at the inside of his cheek because that’s not useful at all.

“I sit outside on the patio sometimes. It’s peaceful, and I just let myself think, you know, relax a bit. Nothing good comes from tension.”

When Liam turns to look at Zayn, he finds the other male practically glaring at the papers before him and he wonders if he should ask about them. It seems only fair given the fact that Zayn has pinpointed exactly who he is yet Liam doesn’t know anything about the other lad save for his name and the fact that he’s only able to draw conclusions about who he is, and suffice to say, that doesn’t satisfy Liam’s curiosity.

“Are you a writer?” It’s fairly obvious, but Liam feels like he has to ask regardless. There’d been more drawings on those pieces of paper than there were words, but Liam couldn’t help but notice the way that some of them were bigger than his vocabulary allowed.

Zayn doesn’t look put off though as Liam had expected. Rather, he slumps against the couch and tries not to look agitated.

“I’d like to think I am, but I’m beginning to believe that I might’ve chosen the wrong career path.”

By now Liam’s forgotten the rest of his food in favor of the conversation at hand. “What makes you say that?”

Zayn snorts but doesn’t hold back on his thoughts. “Anything I write, and any idea I have, nothing turns out the way that I need it to. I’ve written in the past but I should’ve taken everyone’s word for it that it wasn’t good enough.”

“People said you didn’t write well?” And it’s a question that’s not mean to offend, but one of genuine curiosity because how can anyone be so blatantly cruel enough to discourage something that someone has a passion for? Though sure, there’s a possibility that Zayn’s not the best at it either, that maybe it’s truly not what he’s meant to do, but if he’s trying this hard at something, there’s effort and a purpose and a reason behind it that a lot of people don’t tend have in the beginning.

Hell, Liam knows firsthand that he was absolute shit when he first started music. He had a voice and a variation of rhythm but everything else, had to have come from somewhere. The drive within him was enough to go to college, to learn and eventually set out on a journey that led him to where he is now.

So maybe Zayn’s just in the same situation. Maybe he’s not as bad as he’s been told otherwise.

“Can I read it?”

Liam then suddenly makes a face, like he should’ve kept that question to himself because surely Zayn wouldn’t want his opinion or even his own eye to view what he thinks is terrible.

“Okay.” Zayn leans over and grabs the papers before handing it over to Liam. “Although I’m pretty sure you got a good look at them before.”

Liam freezes as his hand clasps around the pages, eyes wide as saucers. “I didn’t mean… They were just-”

The corner of Zayn’s mouth quirks up. “It’s fine. I hadn’t exactly left everything all nice and neat anyway.”

Liam lets out a breath and a smile too and before he can allow himself to look at Zayn’s writing, he’s staring at him and wanting to know the truth. “Why’d you move last night? I thought you’d be out cold.”

Zayn suddenly turns guarded, like the question could potentially lead into an area he’s not willing to go but he masks it by turning away and sinking back into the sofa. “Sometimes I can’t sleep, and I got restless.”

“So you’re feeling better then?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, it’s nice to know that my cooking isn’t the best but maybe you’ve got a bug or…” Liam trails off, leaves it at that because he’s not quite sure if nausea can occur from a car accident though it’s possible but other than the fact that Zayn passed out, he’d seemed fine.

Really, Liam’s just worried about Zayn throwing it back in his face. It’s not like he’s done all he’s can to make up for it anyway, but Liam’s still waiting for the moment where Zayn snaps.

“Liam, it wasn’t… it’s not because of the accident.”

Liam purses his lips and fiddles with the edges of the paper in his hand, careful not to give himself a paper cut.

“So you’re just sick then?”

Zayn mulls the question over a minute or two and Liam can tell that he’s not quite sure how to answer.

“Oh my god, did I hit a dying man?”

Zayn busts out laughing then, seeing at how Liam’s minds a little frayed at the edges with the thought of doing more damage than he could’ve imagined.

“No, Liam. I’m not dying.”

There is an audible sigh of relief, and Zayn lifts his leg up onto the couch and over to Liam’s side, poking his thigh with his sock-covered foot.

“You worry too much,” he announces.

Liam gives him an exasperated look, like he really can’t believe Zayn just admitted that because of course Liam has every right to be concerned. He nearly flattened Zayn like a bug not even forty-eight hours ago.

“Did you forget…”

“Liam.” Zayn’s tone is stern but not overly so, and it somehow manages to calm Liam’s nerves.

“You’ll tell me when you’re not feeling decent, right?”

Zayn’s facial expression changes to something close to neutrality. It’s almost passive in a way but Liam can see his eyelids flutter when he blinks, the way his eyelashes catch against the top portion of his cheek and just behind them, eyes of hazel look deep and scared.

“That implies that you’re letting me stay here for awhile longer, and if I may be so bold, even friends.”

Liam’s bottom lip finds itself caught between his teeth. It’s almost painful the way he bites down on it but when he release it to open his mouth and speak, he knows it’s the least he can do for Zayn.

“I owe you that much at least.”

Zayn ends up poking him again with his toe. “No, not because you owe me. This can’t be about that.”

And on some level it isn’t, but Liam knows he’s going to have to work up to that.

x.x.x.x

So there’s an unspoken rule that Zayn gets to stay out the house, which, of course, Liam is fine with. He sees it as a way for him to pay back his dues and so far, Zayn’s been nothing but company. Whether Zayn really needs to stay or not, Liam doesn’t question it because anytime he brings up the accident and how to deal with it, Zayn shrugs it off.

It’s not like Liam’s beginning to think he’s overstaying his welcome either, rather Liam’s noticed a few things about Zayn that’s beginning to worry him.

The first thing being that he’s always writing. And sure, Zayn’s claimed to be a writer, but he gets so into it and then gets visibly frustrated when nothing turns out correctly. It even keeps him up late at night to the point where Liam can’t wait any longer and he leaves his guest to his own devices in favor of his bed.

The second thing Liam’s taken into account is the fact that Zayn is incredibly smart. Sometimes he’ll sit on the study with Liam while he’s working on a new piece or he’ll sit by his side whenever Liam’s on the phone for work, sorting out schedules and arguing with people about the fact that they’d like to rearrange his music to their liking instead of his own. From there, he’ll lay a hand on Liam’s shoulder and tell him to calm down or he’ll wait for Liam to rant about his day and how shit it was, only to be greeted with kind words and advice from the lad.

And the third particular thing that Liam notices about Zayn, and what worries him the most, is that he rarely eats. Well, when he does it’s mostly pushing his food around his plate and taking in small portions, so it’s not like he’s completely starving himself, per say, but it’s starting to worry him because Liam’s definitely noticed that Zayn’s already skinny. It’s just now he’s beginning to wonder if it’s on purpose.

Liam just doesn’t know how to bring it up.

So he doesn’t, at least not until Harry makes an impromptu trip over and Liam’s fumbling for the words to say as to why he’s letting someone stay over. He hadn’t bothered telling anyone what had happened that night, too scared to hear their judgments so Liam just explains Zayn’s presence as an acquaintance he’d forgotten to mention and leaves it at that.

And it seems like they’re getting along just fine by the looks of it.

“History? Really?” Zayn’s got this look on his face, scrunched up and in disbelief that Harry, of all people, could actually go on to teach something as productive as the past.

Harry shrugs. “It’s not everyone’s favorite.”

“I’ll say.”

“But there’s a lot more to it than just things that happened…”

And then Liam’s lost because Zayn understands everything Harry’s throwing at him, and he’s honestly surprised, once again, by Zayn’s intellect and the fact that he’s got so much potential yet he can’t seem to satisfy himself through his writing.

So later that night whenever Harry’s gone, and with a promise that he will see Zayn again at some point in time, Liam finally manages to work up the courage to talk to Zayn so that they’re not avoiding things that they shouldn’t be, though he’s sure he’s the one who’s been doing that in favor of shoving his past actions behind him and playing host so that there’s not a lawsuit involved, no matter how many times Zayn tells him that everything’s okay between them.

“Zayn?” Liam calls out, knocking on the door to the guest bedroom that has undoubtedly becomes Zayn’s home for the duration of his stay.

The door’s already ajar, so Liam takes that as an invitation to go ahead and push it open, and when he’s left with makes his eyes water and brow furry.

“Zayn?”

The other man is startled. He’s only dressed in a pair of Liam’s sweatpants but his shirt is off, obviously still in the process of getting dressed.

Liam’s sure he would’ve taken the time out to appreciate all of the tattoos that line Zayn’s body if it weren’t for the very fact that Liam can see the very outline of Zayn’s frame, more specifically, his ribs. They aren’t protruding from the skin; there’s still a bit of muscle, possibility even fat that clings to Zayn’s upper body, but it’s apparent that Zayn hasn’t been eating.

It’s also clear that Zayn’s trying his best to slip his shirt on before Liam can take in anymore of what he sees, but Liam’s advancing on him before he can, grabbing both his arms so they don’t obscure his view of Zayn’s middle.

“Zayn,” he whispers.

And maybe this isn’t that big of a deal. Many people are skinny, stick thin things that can’t gain an ounce of fat on their bodies because of their metabolism, but weighed in with the fact that Liam’s seen, or rather the lack thereof, Zayn’s eating habit, he knows there’s a cause for concern.

“Liam, let me explain…” he says, looking up at Liam with pleading eyes, and it’s so very funny because it’s exactly the same thing Liam had expressed just days ago when he’d needed for Zayn to hear him out.

So he gives him a chance.

“I don’t have an eating disorder,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, like he needs to defend the possibility of a mentality he truly doesn’t have.

Liam’s fingers grip Zayn’s arm a little tighter, but Zayn doesn’t protest, makes no noise or movement to push Liam away because he can’t do that, not right now.

“God, I’m so stupid for doing this.” He breathes in a choked sob. “I just… I just needed someone on my side for once, you know? I wanted someone there for me for once because I haven’t had that, and then there you were, feeling guilty about everything, and I didn’t mean to use you.”

Liam’s head is swirling with words and ideas that don’t click together, don’t make sense and that’s all he wants.

“What are you talking about?”

“Liam, I’m a failed writer. I spend all day every day trying to piece together the stories in my head that just won’t come out right. I’ve got nothing left… and you want to know why I was out that night in the cold?”

Liam swallows but doesn’t loosen his grip on Zayn, doesn’t even register the fact that he’s invading his personal space anymore.

“Ever since I left home, nothing’s been right for me. Everything I touch turns to ash, and I can’t even support myself. How bloody fucking stupid does one have to be to be as poor as I am, to the point where I’ve got to walk to the market and hope that the bakery has leftovers they’re about to throw away just to have food?”

Zayn’s breathing is hitched, on the edge of coming undone and breaking down completely.

“Zayn; hey,” Liam whispers and pulls Zayn into his arms, wrapping him up in his warmth. He practically swallows Zayn up with his body size but Liam tries his best to concentrate on the fact that Zayn’s arms are wrapped around his middle, clutching at the material of his shirt while simultaneously burying his face into the crook of Liam’s neck.

“I’m sorry.”

Liam feels it against his neck but he can’t offer anything in return save for the we need to talk that escapes his lips.

x.x.x.x

As it turns out, Zayn lives on the outskirts of town in a little rundown apartment, and even saying that is a bit much. He explains to Liam his situation, and Liam listens with an open mind because the lad curled up on his couch, huddled into the corner of it like a scared animal is not the person Liam’s known for the past week.

And sure, there’d been a few odd behavior things that Zayn had done to get Liam’s attention, but this takes the cake; it’s almost as if Zayn’s waiting for Liam to throw him out with disgust and turn a blind eye to everything he is as a person.

“I left home when I was seventeen,” Zayn starts. They’re sitting on opposite sides of the sofa with Zayn looking down and messing with the end of his shirt, while Liam stares straight ahead, looking at his reflection through the tv that sites across the room.

“My parents hated the fact that I wrote, especially when I told them that it’s what I wanted to do with my life. They couldn’t see it as a viable source of income or even as a legitimate job.”

Zayn stops to take a breath, really not looking forward to recounting his story, but Liam glances over at him and it’s all he needs to continue.

“Add on to the fact that my mother found me making out with another guy… well, let’s just say even my mother hadn’t been have to convince my father that that was okay. His view of me changed then, I guess. I can’t really explain it other than the fact that I could tell he just didn’t care anymore, never really bothered to pay attention to anything I did or look at me the same.”

Liam notices the way Zayn looks far off, as if he’s back in that moment where he finally noticed the change he made in his household.

“I couldn’t stand the looks so I set out to prove them wrong and look at where that’s gotten me, a freeloader who can’t even pay his dues.”

Liam’s not quite sure how he should feel about this. They’d both done wrong on so many accounts but it’s not like he can blame Zayn entirely. Maybe he hadn’t known his original intention, but Liam had ultimately let him stay here anyway.

“Your cuts,” Liam speaks then, turning his body on the couch so that he’s completely facing Zayn. “How are they?”

Zayn glances down at the ones on his arm. Liam had eyed them a few times whenever Zayn’s sleeve had ridden up, but other than that the only indication anything had been done to him was the mark on the side of his forehead. It’s not completely healed, from what Liam can see, but the other lad hadn’t complained about them once and Liam only figures he should ask about them now.

There’s also the very likely chance he’d like to encourage Zayn to go home but knowing what he’d be sending him back to, well that doesn’t bode well for him, and he can only imagine what Zayn must be thinking.

“Uh, they’re fine, I guess. They weren’t deep to begin with.” He lifts the sleeve up on his arm, fully exposing them. They’re scabbed over now, and there might even be scarring, but that’s up in the air until they’re completely healed.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you stay here on two conditions,” he beings to explain, watches as Zayn becomes attentive. “One, we go back and we get your things and you can rent the spare room. People do it all the time, especially when they’ve got too big of a place.”

Zayn’s jaw clenches but it’s not from anger, rather it’s to keep his thoughts to himself in order to wait for Liam to finish.

“And secondly, you can do me a favor by finishing your writing. I don’t know what you’re going for, whether it’s poetry or a book, but I expect something from you that I can read and occupy my time with.” He finishes with a grin on his face until Zayn decides to speak.

“And what if I have nothing?”

“You’ll have something.”

“Liam, I don’t know if I can go through with this. It’s… god, it’s a nice proposal in theory but I’m not exactly drowning in cash either. I work, or rather worked, in a grocery store, and it’s not like I’ve got any other qualifications for anything else.”

“We’ll find you something, I promise.”

“You’re overly confident in this and me. I’m not so sure you should be.”

Liam narrows his eyes the slightest bit, tilts his head and purses his lip as he studies Zayn, who’s now fidgeting with his own hands instead of his shirt.

“Zayn, my confidence in my ability to compose music is what got me this far in life and in my career and it seems to me that you’ve got none of that yourself. You have a drive; I’ve read the bit of work you do have, and you’ve got the potential.”

He stands from the sofa, ready to leave the room in favor of his study, where a sudden spark has just hit him. Liam will probably end up spending the rest of the night there.

“You need to do it for yourself and not for anyone else. Maybe that’s why nothing’s coming to you, why you’re having trouble. Don’t feel like you owe someone else for the work that you originally create.”

And with that Liam walks off, shoves his hands into his pockets until he gets to his study, where he closes the door and doesn’t bother requiring an answer from Zayn just yet.

Instead, Liam finds a spare sheet of paper and a pencil and sits at his piano, hands already fluttering over the keys in the exact spot he needs them to, the way he sees it in his head. Later, it’ll be transcribed for other instruments so that Liam will finally be able to hear it as it’s intended, but for now, he works with what he has.

His fingers press down against the keys, and then he plays.

x.x.x.x

A total of three weeks pass before Zayn is able to actually pay Liam back for rent. It’s not much, but it’s something and he feels good, feels better about it all. His cuts are healing over nicely, and so far, it looks like there may be only a scar or two, but Zayn doesn’t mind. He’d been the one stupid enough to be outside at that time of night, though he had given Liam a good talking to about drinking and driving, regardless of whether he was actually drunk or not.

Liam had listened though, took the chastising like a pro and promised Zayn the next time he so much as put alcohol in his mouth, he’d have a ride waiting for him by the end of it all.

Right now though, the double doors to the study are opened wide, with Zayn sitting just outside of them, curled up on one of the lawn chairs. He’s got a stack of papers in his hand, some rigid and crumpled up, while a pen is curled up in his fingers, writing away.

Liam, once again, is sitting at his piano and fiddling around with it. So far, he’s finished what he needs for the performance that will take place next weekend, roughly a week and a half away, and needless to say he’s worried. All the pieces are lined up in order in the way he wants them performed; they’ve smoothed out any kinks with the entire key instrumentalist despite Liam having been worried that none of them had been given the proper amount of time to learn the material.

But his colleagues and those who he works with, the conductor and everyone in between, all reassure him that everything will be okay, that it’ll go smoothly and that he’s always this nervous before a show.

“Liam?” Zayn calls out. The day is nice, warm weather and clouds and not overly sunny to the point where Zayn feels the need to wear sunglasses.

“Hmm?” he stops playing with the piano and focuses his attention outside.

“Do you have a favorite composer?”

“Would be okay if I said all of them?”

Zayn looks up from writing and wants to tell Liam no, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t really have a favorite, I suppose. I love them all really, loved learning about them and the way they went about music. They did what they wanted, sat down and wrote and created something beautiful. Many pieces didn’t even become as famous as they are now until after the composers were dead, didn’t get to see their hard work loved by an audience.”

Zayn smiles at the fondness in Liam’s voice, the way he looks off and imagines what that would’ve been like had his music become great after passing. It’s one thing Zayn thinks Liam’s probably grateful for, that his career as an artist is appreciated now while he’s alive.

“Will you show me?”

It breaks Liam’s concentration on his thoughts, makes him turn back to the piano only to find Zayn standing next to the instrument, his pen and paper left on the chair outside.

“How to play? It’d take more than a lesson or two.” Liam smiles but motions for Zayn to come over. He stands up then, allowing Zayn to take his spot, where he slides over on the bench so he’s settled in the middle.

“I mean a few notes, one of your pieces. How did you create it?”

Liam hums, reaching forwards from his position behind Zayn to move his hand on the correct keys. “Press down like this.” And he shows him, goes slow at first and only lets Zayn push down three keys before moving on to another three. “Now play it in order.”

And Zayn does. It makes up just a small portion of one of Liam’s pieces, lighthearted and airy, which has Zayn grinning up at him.

“This doesn’t seem so bad.”

Liam laughs. “Those were the first I’d ever written, actually. It’s the beginning of my most famous piece, if you will, the one people recognize before my others.”

Zayn plays it over and over again, listening to it with new ears because he has the chance to listen in to the creator and the story behind it.

“What was going through your mind when writing it?”

Zayn stops playing it and moves his hands into his lap until he turns back to Liam, watches as he looks down from where he’s standing.

“A lot of different things I suppose, mostly understanding and a need to create something. Enlightenment is what I feel when I play it, like some kind of knowledge has suddenly been given to me, and I understand a much bigger picture that I hadn’t seen clearly before.”

Zayn then moves over on the bench so that he’s sitting on the left side, enough room for Liam to sit back down.

“Play it for me?”

“Not to be presumptuous or an ass or anything, but I thought you’d heard it before?”

Zayn ducks his head but nods. “I have but it’s never been played on piano, and I can get a private show.”

When Liam smiles at that, the corners of his eyes crinkle up and he looks genuinely happy. “Is that all I am to you, an opportunity for exclusives?”

Liam then bumps Zayn’s shoulder with his own before he sits up straight and places his hands on the keys.

“I don’t let anyone play my pieces on piano aside from myself.”

And before Zayn can retort with a question that is inevitably on the tip of his tongue, Liam plays in such a way that has Zayn enamored. His fingers are long enough to dance across the keys, but by no means are they slender. Liam’s shoulders relax and his posture smoothes out, and Zayn notices the way his entire face completely changes to one of fondness, like a memory or a scene is attached to what he’s playing and he can’t help but recall it in that moment.

The room fills with a particular wave of emotion, like nothing else matters except the notes being played, and Zayn, for a moment, understands what Liam’s trying to convey, feels the exact way Liam must’ve when he wrote the piece.

He also understands what Liam means by creating something completely original and taking credit for it by being proud of what’s accomplished by one’s own doing rather than base actions upon trying to prove oneself to others who may not bother caring anyway.

It gives him a slightly new perspective on his life and what he should do with it because this is raw to the core, something created for pleasure rather than the demands of others around him.

It’s purely Liam.

Liam lets the end notes play; they’re more lighthearted than when it started out, but when it finishes off, Liam takes a breath and waits for Zayn’s approval.

“That was beautiful.”

Liam’s sheepish at first until he realizes that Zayn’s being completely sincere.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just play your own music. You’d sell out shows that way too.”

Liam looks down at his hands, but shrugs. “I don’t often hear my music being played this way. It sounds different in my head and it isn’t until I write down the basics that I take it to people who can really play instruments so we can transcribe it, work around what I’ve written and add in things that the piano doesn’t give.”

It’s a very technical, thought out answer, and while Zayn believes it, has heard the other version of Liam’s music, he can’t help but feel like this means more to Liam than he’s letting on. It’s personal to him but Zayn doesn’t say that out loud.

Rather Liam focuses his attention on Zayn. “You’ve been writing?”

“Trying,” Zayn says.

“Progress?”

“Something like that.”

But Zayn makes no promise to show Liam yet until it’s all put together, until it’s perfect enough to present.

And Liam finds that he’s okay with waiting, no matter how long it takes.

x.x.x.x

Things go perfectly okay for the both of them for the next two days before something really changes. Their routine consisted of Liam mostly staying at home, putting the final touches on his work or setting off for the concert hall for practices to make sure the show would run smoothly.

Zayn, on the other hand, had been supplied a job by Harry, and although Zayn had first rejected the offer to play errand boy for the other lad because it somehow felt like he’d only gotten the job because of connections, he eventually relented anyway because the hours were decent and he’d have plenty of time to write, just as he’d always wanted.

But then there’s a day, a moment where Zayn comes home and doesn’t bother letting Liam know. He locks himself up in his room and doesn’t even come out to eat, which, by the way, Liam had managed to get him back on track with his food, to the point where he wasn’t throwing up any time he ate something and the bones showing through were ebbing away from view with the small amount of weight gain. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Zayn looks healthier, and he’d been letting Liam help him along, just the same that Liam had been learning from him and his life.

But when he fails to remove himself from his quarters to sit with Liam in his study while he works, Liam grows concerned and wonders if he should even ask. That’s what friends are for, aren’t they, to help one another through shit? But Liam’s not sure until the moment that Zayn emerges and it looks like he’s been crying.

Liam can’t bring himself to comment. Rather, Liam takes Zayn by the hand, brings him outside and gives him a beer where they sit and watch the sunset in a cool breeze with no other words exchanged between them.

But then the same thing happens the next day and the next, with Zayn slowly becoming distance, short tempered, with only one word answers toward Liam. He’s beginning to notice a change, and Liam has no clear indication of what’s happened, if he’d done something wrong or if Zayn’s just going through a phase.

“Zayn?”

“Hmmm.”

Liam figured he’d be met with silence. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

So Liam tries another approach in trying to talk with Zayn.

“Uh, I’m sure Harry told you, but he’s taking tomorrow off to come down to the concert hall, and well, I figured you might want to come along too?”

Zayn pauses, his pen hovering over his papers.

“Alright.”

And when Liam tries to speak again, he gets the feeling that he’s only annoying Zayn, and because Liam’s not that great when it comes to conflict, he decides to mutter nevermind before wandering off into the house to do god knows what.

x.x.x.x

Needless to say, the next day during rehearsals don’t go over smoothly at all. The final touches that Liam had been tweaking still hadn’t been picked up by some of the players after all, and he’s spent the majority of his time adjusting things, rewriting various sections in his work, only to have everyone play them out loud before shaking his head and waving a hand to cease the noise.

Eventually, they take a break at lunch, and it’s only then that Liam finally gets to sit down for a moment or two next to Harry who’s been texting on and off the entire time, most likely having gone bored with the entire situation since it hadn’t been a smooth run like he’d thought it would’ve and should’ve been.

Zayn’s also several rows back with his sheets of paper full of writing and sketches, who also hadn’t really spoken to Liam at all that morning save for thanking him for breakfast and telling him where he’d be in the auditorium.

“I think I might cry.”

“Now, let’s not do that. It’s too early for that kind of behavior,” Harry says, finally glancing way from his mobile to pay attention to Liam.

Liam snorts. “I can’t even blame anyone here but myself. I thought I had it down but I’ve made so many changes, and the program is a week away.”

Harry lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes before letting go. “Calm down, Liam Payne. This isn’t anything you haven’t dealt with before.”

And he’s right. Harry’s honestly correct in his statement because this does tend to happen whenever the presentation date approaches. What Liam fails to acknowledge, or what he’d rather not admit out loud, is that he feels like this concert is a lot more important to him this go around, a feeling he can’t really explain quite yet.

He’d been receiving calls bout how some pretty important people would be there that night, and while Liam usually uses his music as an outlet for his stress, it doesn’t really help when the very thing that’s supposed to comfort him doesn’t and is instead the very thing causing him strain.

“Also, and definitely using this as a way to get your mind off of things seeing as we’ll most likely be here for the rest of the day, watching you run around like a chicken with your head cut off… what’s up with Zayn?”

Liam chances a glance back at the lad, whose face is still ducked down and out of sight so Liam can’t read his expression.

“Hell if I know.”

“Might’ve had something to do with that phone call he took the other day.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“He didn’t tell you?” Now Harry’s the one looking mildly surprised, and Liam’s not even sure what to say to that.

“Does it look like he’d be in the kind of mood to tell me anything?” Liam snaps and gestures over to Zayn. Harry quietly tells him to fuck off, but with the lick of his lips he explains.

“I don’t know who it was but Zayn turned pissed five minutes into the call. He never yelled, not once, but you could tell something happened. Did he say anything to you about having it out with someone?”

Liam shakes his head because Zayn didn’t really talk about the people in his life. Liam only knew about his family, that he rarely kept in contact with them because of his father and Liam hadn’t bothered to see if Zayn had any other friends, but judging by the way he holed himself up at the house, never really going anywhere unless it was with Liam, he could only assume that he didn’t have anyone else.

“You know, you never really told me how this all came about anyway.”

Liam sighs but he can’t bring himself to tell Harry much, other than the fact that he and Zayn met by accident and he would be staying with him for some time.

“I’ll talk to him,” Liam says, and Harry crosses his arms over his chest as Liam stands up and walks away, back to rehearsals.

x.x.x.x

“I don’t make it my business to pry, but I think we need to talk,” Liam says, pursing his lips and rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet. “Again,” he adds.

Zayn, for once, is curled up on the couch watching tv. His writing is nowhere in sight and Liam thinks it’s a first since that second night Zayn had stayed over.

Zayn turns the tv off and waits for Liam to take a seat, which he does, just not on the couch, rather he chooses to sit on the arm of the sofa.

“There’s no need to give me specifics; I won’t ask that much of you, but you have-”

“I can’t stay here anymore.” Zayn blinks up at Liam before looking away, not paying attention to Liam’s reaction.

“Wait, what?”

Liam thought they’d been getting along just fine, and sure it was impromptu of a meeting between them, moving in and everything just because Liam had still felt partially guilty, but it wasn’t until Zayn had been around the first few hours that Liam had noticed just how quiet of a place his house was without anyone living in it. It’s by no means a mansion, but any sound he makes, echoes along the rooms.

“I-” Zayn stops, breathes in through his nose and thinks of a good way to break this to Liam.

“I don’t understand. I thought things were going great?”

“Yeah well, I underestimated my history, and there’s some things I’ve got to take care of.”

Liam knows there’s more to it than that so when Zayn stands up, and he moves closer to Liam, he sucks in a breath because Zayn’s really, really close, to the point where Liam can see Zayn’s eyes running over his face. They meet his gaze before they flicker down to what Liam believes is his lips. And with the way Zayn is eyeing him, the way his tongue darts out across his own mouth leaving them glistening and pink, Liam thinks he understands.

It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening, the way that Zayn feels against him, against his lips and a hand on the back of his neck to hold him steady in case he’s startled.

But Liam’s not and he sinks down into the feeling, into Zayn and the way that he feels and how one hand is now casually pressed against his waist, rubbing circles with a thumb against his lower belly.

Zayn draws back after a moment, teeth biting at Liam’s lower lip with more than just a smirk on his face. His eyes dance with appreciation and a light that had been ever growing since Liam had sat him down and told him what he expected from him if he were to stay.

“I’ve wanted to do that for awhile now,” Zayn whispers.

“Then what stopped you?”

Zayn pulls back even further, but he doesn’t remove his hands from Liam’s body. “A lot of things.”

“You still have to leave?”

Zayn’s face falls and he finally releases Liam from his hold. “Yeah.”

“When?”

Zayn shrugs. “When the time is right.”

Liam tries his best not to glare at Zayn, but it doesn’t work. “That isn’t fair, you know.”

“Nothing ever is.”

It seems so final and not what Liam wants to hear but then Zayn leaves forward and gives him a kiss just on the corner of his mouth before he retreats from the room. The touch lingers there, burns with intensity that Liam has trouble placing. He’s so confused right now, puzzled at the entire events that have happened to him in the last month or so.

Though honestly, if Zayn really has to leave, Liam hopes that they’ll stay in contact somehow.

x.x.x.x

Liam’s edginess grows every day. Not only does he worry about his concert but he stresses over Zayn too, whose mood has seemed to flip completely, leaving Liam to pick it up and drag it around with him.

He’s nervous with each day that passes because he feels like he’s got a lot on his plate. The rehearsals have finally pulled together, even with all the changes that Liam still continues to make because he can’t make up his mind on how he wants certain little parts of his music to go.

It’d be a lot easier if Liam just played his piano, presented his pieces like they were originally intended and not through a giant orchestra, but he doesn’t because that’s his and he can’t share that with anyone else.

Except for Zayn, that is.

They sit side-by-side on the piano bench, Liam showing Zayn exactly what he knows and how to play random tunes just for fun. They share a laugh and sometimes a kiss or two but neither of them takes it any farther than smiles and bright eyes.

“I got you a ticket to the show,” Liam says while they’re in the middle of messing about on the piano.

Zayn plays the notes over and over again, the ones Liam’s been teaching him. He’s not as fluid as Liam is, but he’s trying; it’s endearing and more than Liam could’ve asked for really.

“Thought it was sold out?” Zayn replies over the music.

“I wrote the music. I’m able to get anyone who I damn well please in.”

Zayn lets out a laugh.

“You’ll come, right?”

Liam’s expecting to hear a resounding, happy yes fall from Zayn’s lips, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, Zayn looks at him with an emotion he can’t describe, and he realizes he probably asked for too much already.

“We’ll see,” is what Liam gets in return, and he thinks fair enough but doesn’t push it any more than that.

But it doesn’t stop him from wondering why Zayn hadn’t said yes, and if something may happen before his concert. The thoughts swirl in his head, and he has no idea how far he’s gotten in this little dance of theirs until he realizes he’s pining for someone he has under his own roof, the perfect opportunity to make something happen because it seems like Zayn wants the same.

But Liam goes on anyway. He leaves the house more often in favor of the concert hall for all the last minute touches. It’s two days before the big day, and Liam can’t sit still for nothing.

They have an early release for rehearsals today, and that’s fine because Liam only wants to go home and sleep. He’s mentally drained and almost has no room left in him to care.

So Liam goes home, walks through the front door and debates on whether he should fix himself something to eat. In the end he doesn’t, and as he wonders around to his bedroom, it’s only then that he realizes he hasn’t seen Zayn yet. He’d opted not to follow Liam to work, claiming his writing was near finished and he needed to get it done for Liam, like he promised he would.

But every room Liam passes, Zayn is nowhere to be found. He even checks his study and looks out the French doors in case maybe he’d gotten lost in his own world out there and hadn’t heard Liam come in.

Though something heavy fills his stomach, the dread seeping through and curling against his insides as he makes his way down the hall to the bedroom that Zayn had made his own. There weren’t any pictures or many personal things Zayn had, but the room had been lived in and warm rather than what it had been when Liam first moved in.

The door is left ajar, just enough so that Liam can only see some of the room.

“Zayn?”

But as he places his palm against the wood and pushes, his heart drops when he’s met with an empty room, bed neatly made and looking like it hadn’t been lived in whatsoever.

The only thing out of place that remains within the room is a stack of papers sitting in the middle of the bed with a pen right next to it. Some of them are crinkled and worn and others look neat.

Liam’s hesitant to even look.

There’s more sheets there than necessary for a letter of any kind, so Liam knows that Zayn hasn’t left any kind of apology. As he moves closer, Liam can make out words that cover up the entire first page of paper.

Black ink stains mare the edges too, leaving little smudges and finger prints across the page. The writing isn’t anything elegant but it’s not bad enough that no one can read it.

Liam sits down and picks up the papers and realizes his hands shake just the slightest bit. There’s no need to be nervous now, especially since Zayn obviously left this behind for a reason, but Liam’s not sure what’s written.

The first page seems normal enough. Like he’d seen before, there’s black ink and words. It looks like an outline of sorts, so Liam takes the first sheet and lays it on the bed so he can’t spoil what’s written.

The next page is where the story truly begins. It’s set in a more futuristic world where things are dull and gray, have become polluted by years of waste. Buildings are run down and houses are in shambles, but that’s where the lower class tends to live, with their outdated technology and the fight for survival.

It then shifts to hard work and living easy, where two people meet for the first time, both of different statures in the world, where one is expected to succeed and the other to fail. They don’t know one another but they eventually get to, until they’re too close and ultimately divided because of their differences.

Liam spends the rest of the night curled up on the bed, reading through each page, through all the mistakes and pen marks and details that make his stomach curl and flutter all at once.

Because it’s good, and it only gets better towards the middle and then by the end, when it looks like there is no hope, and from that point, Liam begins to notice the similarities within the writing, how both men are people who are on a journey for something much bigger than just the two of them, the way they spend their time together and how one notices the other more than he lets on in fear of falling too far in love.

Zayn paints a picture of fair skin and freckles that map the entire body of a male figure that sits on the patio, looking out into the fading sunset of an evening sky, who wrings his hands together in anticipation, who bites at his lip in worry because he’s nervous of what will happen in just mere moments.

Liam flips through each page marked one, two, three and so on, eyes scanning over every piece as the momentum builds, needing to know the answer because it’s handwritten in delicate, black ink that is only distinctive to him because no one else had bothered to read the writing that covers the white sheets of paper he holds with his bare hands.

There’s a few lingering touches by then; they’re staring into one another’s eyes and recollecting the history the two had always known, both hesitant and afraid of what may happen but neither shakes it off. They don’t leave their spots in which they sit, even as the sky fades away into blackness and the lights on the porch blinks on and they’re swallowed in yellow iridescent light.

And all of it seems familiar but foreign to Liam, like it’s something that should’ve happened, but didn’t because other circumstances, other choices dictated a different path chosen.

It’s all on the tip of his tongue, and Liam wants to remove himself from the room and the pages that breathe life and show him a future he could’ve had if he’d only listened with the music of his heart instead of the rhythm of his surroundings.

Because Liam had a tendency to go with the flow whenever it came to his personality, letting others decide for him on things with no other protest to tell them he disagreed because he wasn’t sure what he was meant to be for everyone. And the only thing Liam had ever been certain of was his music and the way it sounded to his ears.

So all of this, he takes note as his hands  begin to tremble again and his eyes blur so that he can’t read the writing anymore than he can think clearly, meant something, means something deeper. It’s special; it’s him and it’s Zayn but it’s not their story.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Liam releases the paper from his hands just before the character that is most certainly a representation of Zayn, even if Zayn hadn’t meant for it to turn out that way from the beginning, lays a very willing Liam down on his bed to make him feel alive. He lets it fall to the wayside and onto the carpet, not caring that the pages have now spread around and have been mixed up. They have numbers, an ordered sequence that will always right themselves in the end because it’s how it’s meant to be, how it’s always supposed to go.

He exits the room with only one thing in mind, the study; his music room. It’s the only piece he’s got left, the only evidence of a fight he has left within him and as he storms through the doors and heads straight for the piano; he grabs a clean sheet of paper and a pen, sits down and writes.

Whatever comes to his head, he scribbles it down, playing around with the keys on the piano just to make sure that it’ll fit perfectly. There’s no anguish or fear or any type of slowness that he’d been experiencing before and Liam knows this is last minute and probably a piece he should reserve for a future concert, but either way, he’ll make it work; it will all fit together because he’s got the last piece he needs to make the rest of his set work, to make everything he’d been writing for this event to finally come together the way it was meant to, to be the final touch he didn’t know he needed.

The ending piece that he’ll play will be his best creation yet because he can hear it in his head, sparked by a thought, by words written from a man who’d he’d only known for several weeks, who’d imprinted his name onto Liam’s heart in more ways that he could’ve possibly imagined, and this… this would be Liam’s way of righting his wrongs.

It may not be better than words, but Liam’s always trusted his gut when it comes to composing music. There’s a reason he makes a living off of it in the first place, goddamnit, and he’ll be damned if his apology isn’t heard.

Music is feelings and passion, and it’s the only thing Liam has to offer, the only thing he has left to give and whether Zayn shows up this weekend, Liam won’t know until after the show, but he only prays that he will, that he’ll hear him and listen because Liam’s found, throughout everything they’ve been together, that somehow, even without speaking, Zayn has always understood him anyway.

x.x.x.x

Liam decides to stay backstage for the duration of his concert. He knows it probably doesn’t look good to everyone he’s trying to impress, the composer of the show not there to represent it all, but he can’t bring himself to look around and know how many people fill the place.

It’s a completely different feeling when it’s empty and walking amongst the unfilled chairs. It’s just Liam and his music that sounds perfect in his own ears but different to those that are now filling those seats.

There’s a grand total of about seven pieces being played, including one that Liam hadn’t even bothered to announce, figuring he’d do it after the last note played and people thought they could leave. It’s a risky move on all accounts because this time, it’ll only be him out on stage, something he normally doesn’t do until the end of the concert to wrap up and thank the crowd.

But he’s got something up his sleeve.

From where he’s standing, Liam can see Harry and Louis sitting side by side. Niall managed to make it too, though he claimed he hadn’t had a nice suit until Harry forced him to find one. Harry hadn’t ever missed one of Liam’s shows, and he wasn’t going to allow anyone else to either if he could help it.

Liam then turns his back away from the curtains and makes his way over to a nearby chair he’d been able to find backstage so he’d have somewhere to sit. The entire time, he’s been back and forth between standing and sitting, waiting for each piece to end on pins and needles, not knowing if anyone would clap or express their appreciation.

He’s also taken to closing his eyes and listening to his music, feeling it under his fingertips and tapping them against the side of his leg. It’s been comforting so far, but then a loud sound of applause startles him and Liam’s left clambering from his seat and over to the curtains that hide him from view.

The conductor has now turned around, bowing while some people are up on their feet and Liam knows that they’re about to call his name to come out on stage. So when they do, Liam stands up straight, squares his shoulders and holds his head up. He also takes a moment to breathe through his nose and out of his mouth before taking the first step forward.

The lights hit him first before his vision can take anything in. They blind him when he looks out into the crowd, not able to see anyone’s faces, but he puts on a half smile regardless to make it seem like he can. They dim after a moment, but he’s only able to see the first few rows afterwards.

There’s a microphone being offered to him and he takes it. The applauses from people are still going, so Liam doesn’t speak yet. He know he won’t be heard, and instead of standing there and feeling awkward, he goes ahead and makes his way to the piano sitting on the other side of the stage, in clear view.

He takes a seat and briefly wonders if he should’ve brought his music sheet along, just in case, but Liam knows what he’s about to play by heart. It’s fresh in his mind, something that aches under his skin.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says into the microphone. He licks his lips in anticipation and waits for the remaining crowd to quiet down. “I normally don’t do this. In fact, I don’t think I’ve done something like this since I started out playing, but if you’re willing to stick around for another five minutes, the pleasure would be all mine.”

He tests out the piano keys with his right hands, just to make sure, though he knows that everything is already tuned before each concert during preparation.

“I wrote this about…” Liam trails off before he recalls spending hours at the piano just a few nights ago. “Well, two or three days ago, much too soon for it to be included in tonight’s show unless I played it myself. And like I said, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do that for you.”

He’s met with a round of applause, and he smiles in return before he’s handing off the microphone to someone. He messes around with the keys again, making sure he’s at his mark before his fingers move of their own accord.

The piano he’s playing at isn’t his. It’s not as nice as the one he’s got in his studio, but it’s all black and shiny and if he pays attention he can see himself in the reflection, how the stage lights bounce off of the detailing so easily.

But Liam tries to focus on his hands and the piano keys as much as he can. It starts out softly, just a few notes before they all come together in a repeating pattern. The melody picks up too, goes slightly faster than the opening does until Liam’s too busy feeling the music rather than thinking of anything else.

The notes roll over in his mind, each one presenting itself before his finger hits the key and it’s out, waiting for the next to be played in an order that Liam had been able to complete only some nights ago.

And as he slowly makes his way towards the end of the song, Liam feels that heavy weight in his chest lift and the tightening feeling within release. He finishes his set in no time at all, and when the very last note rings out and quiets down, Liam’s met with silence and the prospect of what will come next.

Liam can hear the sound of his own breathing, but then one fell clap starts out before a chorus of them follows, and he smiles in relief. He stands up from the piano bench and gives a slight wave and a bow before someone is handing over the microphone and he’s able to speak.

“Thank you,” he says, and Liam’s sure there’s more to his speech than just that, but it flies by in a blur because as soon as he’s off the stage, there are people back there with cameras and a few interviewers they allowed in. There are also critics who’ve made their way backstage, and Liam has to spend time with them all, talking to them, answer questions and seeing if they liked the show.

It isn’t until a majority of them have dispersed that they’re ushered into a room filled with tables and snacks for the instrumentalists, where people gather and have a small after party. Liam doesn’t enjoy these things too much, but he deals with it anyway.

“Liam!”

He turns around and finds his friends walking towards them. Niall’s got his eyes set on the beverages, but mainly the food, while Louis sticks to Harry’s side as they continue on over.

“You did wonderful, and I didn’t know you were performing, you twat.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head at Harry’s language until he looks sheepish. “Right, sorry; important people are around here.”

“I wasn’t sure I was going to even go through it. It was last minute,” Liam admits.

“Well you did splendid, especially with the rest of your music, as always.”

Liam can only bow his head and mutter thanks. He can feel his face heating up slightly at the compliment as they’ve always meant more to him than stranger’s opinions.

They talk amongst themselves for a majority of the time until someone comes along and interrupts them for Liam’s attention, and any time it does happen, both Louis and Harry step back and let Liam’s personality take over until they’re left alone once again.

By this time, Niall’s migrated over, plate full of food although he already looks a bit stuffed. “Ate before I came,” he declares, but Liam’s pretty sure he’d sneak in a cupcake or two regardless of his stomach’s protests too.

Liam’s not sure how much time passes, but it does, and slowly, until some of the guests disappear or disperse. There’s light music playing in the background and the chatter of people all about, and when he’s about to open his mouth to address a question Harry has just asked him, he hears a statement from the wayside that catches him off guard.

“What is he wearing?”

Liam knows that can only mean one thing, that someone hadn’t come dressed appropriately for the hall. Mostly it’s one of those nice events, where everyone dresses up in their church attire and pretends they’re a part of a higher social class for a night.

And then there are those that try as they might to look decent with what they have.

So Liam, doing his best to answer Harry’s question, takes the time to look around the room to see who’s all left, and it’s then that he spots a figure by the door, just lounging there, afraid to step food through the threshold and make his way inside.

Liam cuts himself off with a low whine.

“Liam?”

Liam waves Harry off though and instead hands over his drink to Louis, who’d left their conversation a bit earlier to get them. He sputters, not prepared to have the beverage thrust into his hand, but he manages while watching Liam walk off towards the direction of the door.

Liam notices when Zayn sees him. He stiffens up but crosses through into the room until he meets Liam a little less than halfway.

And Liam swears he has words he needs to get out, that he needs to say first in order for the other lad to know just what he thought of Zayn’s disappearing act, but instead of being able to let it out, he’s stepping forward, closer to Zayn than necessary.

He’s got to clear his throat and take in Zayn’s appearance, ratty old black jeans with a black, buttoned up dress shirt. Liam scoffs but doesn’t say a word, just has a feeling come over him where he tilts his head and leans in that much closer.

And before he knows it, Liam’s hands are cupped around Zayn’s face, bringing him forward and smashing their lips together. Zayn’s hands end up fisted within the material of Liam’s dress shirt, and as Liam kisses him senseless, it’s not till a moment later that he pulls away and looks as the other man with more admiration than he ever thought possible because Zayn had made it, had actually come despite the fact that Liam had thought he’d gone for good.

“You came.”

Zayn nods and the side of his mouth quirks up. “You gave me a ticket, remember?”

“But you left…”

“I owed you that much,” Zayn replies.

Liam shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t of been careless.”

Zayn’s eyes roam Liam’s face but he shrugs. “Exactly the point; if you hadn’t of run me over with your car and if I hadn’t of been stupid enough not to have bloody insurance, I don’t think we’d be here.”

From behind Liam, he hears a gasp and he flinches, face scrunched up and realizes their mistake at talking about this in the middle of a very crowded room.

“Liam Payne,” Harry calls out. “You told me he was a friend staying over.”

Zayn turns his head to the side trying to avoid Liam seeing the clear smile on his face. Liam can see his shoulders shake lightly with laughter regardless.

“And if I’d done that, you’d think I’d gone mad.”

Harry makes his way over now, disregarding the little group he’d been in before just several feet over. “I already thought you were crazy living in that house all by yourself.” And then Harry pauses and addresses Zayn, raising an eyebrow too. “And then you left.”

Zayn sobers up then from his small laughing fit, bites his lips and wonders if he should tell them anything at all. He knows he owes them an explanation, especially after having disappeared a few days ago, but he honestly hadn’t planned on seeing Liam again and figured it was better that way.

“I went home.”

Liam tries to swallow but is mouth as become impeccably dry all of a sudden. “Really?”

Zayn shuffles on his feet and nods. “Yeah, it was about time. Mum rang me and said she was a bit sick, and I… not just that though-”

Liam lays a hand on Zayn’s arm. “It’s alright.”

“Well,” Harry clears his throat and looks between the two of them. “I take it the both of you won’t be sticking around then?”

Both Liam and Zayn suddenly grow uncomfortable at the suggestion but Zayn’s the first one to speak up, not able to look up at Liam and instead choosing to address Harry.

“Actually, I’ve got to go.”

He doesn’t offer any more of an explanation at that, and when he gives both lads one last smile, he shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to leave. There’s a kind of look in his eyes that makes Liam want to go after him, but something stops him from doing so.

Liam’s left standing there with his head tilted, more than confused and hurt at the prospect of having Zayn leave again.

“You are an idiot. Would you get on with it already?” Harry shoves him forward and motions for him to go now before Zayn makes it out of the building, and Liam does as he’s told, mind not having caught up with these current events.

“Zayn?”

The hall isn’t as full with people so Zayn hears him and slows down his walk.

“Yeah?”

“You should come by sometime. You left something at my place, and I’m pretty sure you’d want it back.”

Zayn looks nervous. “You read it then?”

Liam gives a half smile and a nod. “Of course; it’s the only thing you left behind and it’s much too good of a story to let go. I told you that you could do it.”

“It’s not anything-”

“Shut the fuck up for a moment,” Liam says.

Zayn’s obviously taken by surprise because although Liam had been stern with him before, he’s never outright been so demanding.

“It’s more than that, and you and I know it is. You’ve got talent, and if I can help it, I’m not going to let it go to waste.”

Zayn narrows his eyes, cautious now. “Why do I get the feeling that you did something?”

Liam looks diffident all of a sudden but he still holds Zayn’s gaze. “I haven’t done anything yet, but if you want me to, I’ve got a few numbers in my phonebook that may be able to help you out.”

“I’m not riding on your coattail,” Zayn deadpans.

“You wouldn’t be. You’d have to go through meetings and publishers and the like, but it’s a step in the right direction, a recommendation, if you will, that’ll help you get your foot through the door.”

“Liam-”

“Zayn.”

“Is this because you still feel guilty? I thought we worked everything out already.” Zayn sighs and rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s got nothing to do with that anymore.”

“I-”

But Liam won’t hear any of it, so he moves forward into Zayn’s personal space and his voice dies down in his throat.

“Trust me the way I trusted you, yeah?”

Zayn nods. “I need to go now.” It’s really nothing but a whisper on his tongue because Liam’s close, and although he’d been the one to initiate contact just those few days ago, they aren’t in Liam’s house anymore. They’re out in the open where Zayn’s confidence level isn’t as it had been.

“You’ll come back around, won’t you?”

“Promise.”

And Liam lets him leave without asking for anything else. He’s got no way to contact Zayn and no idea if it’ll be the last time he sees him, but that’s okay. Something stirs within in stomach and tells him things will turn out decently enough, that Zayn’s got some issues to work out before he can fully be functional for anything Liam has to offer.

x.x.x.x

“Breathe, Liam.”

“I’m nervous.”

Zayn’s smile is blinding. It’s genuine and so full of love that Liam can’t help but sneak in a kiss.

“We’re going to be late if you don’t quit that,” Zayn berates.

Liam just gives him a sly grin and raised eyebrows; it’s suggestive on all accounts.

“For someone who is very poised in public, you’re very… teasing elsewhere.”

Liam draws Zayn close to him just outside of the concert hall where he’s due to have another performance. It’d been at least four months since Liam had first seen Zayn again until he’d turned up on his doorstep and asked him out to dinner.

From there, they had started off slow, with Zayn rekindling things with his family and taking their relationship one step at a time. So far, Zayn’s currently in negotiations for a book deal although it hasn’t gone through yet, but he can feel the luck at the tips of his fingers.

“You like it though, and I honestly wouldn’t mind if we skipped.”

“You haven’t missed a concert since you started selling out,” Zayn reminds Liam. He picks at his suit, dusting off any stray hairs and wrinkles on the fabric.

“Which means it wouldn’t hurt if I missed one.”

But Zayn shakes his head and takes Liam’s hands in his own. “No because you’d regret it. Plus, you’re taking my advice again and playing.”

“I only played it because I needed someone to hear it,” Liam admits. He swats Zayn’s hands away from his clothing until Zayn gives up on trying to fix his outfit.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a coincidence that I wrote something and performed it on my own, now is it?”

Zayn shoves his shoulder lightly but his face reddens otherwise, that he’s trying to contain the bit of happiness he feels. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Liam purses his lips but shrugs. “Never the right moment, I guess.”

“You’ll play it for me after the concert too?”

Liam chuckles and his eyes crinkle at the edges from his smile. “If that’s what you want.”

Zayn answers by leaning in and connection their lips together, soft, slow and subtle, just enough for Zayn to feel Liam relax his shoulders and pull away with confidence.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“I was last time too.”

“I didn’t know it then until afterwards.”

“Yet you still did a mighty fine job.”

Zayn tugs on Liam’s hand so they can begin walking towards the building to go inside, where Liam actually sits in the front row of seat alongside his friends and his boyfriend Zayn, where he leaves his position only to make his way up on stage in front of a massive room of people, to play a song he’d unintentionally given to and made for Zayn because he had the ability to do so.

Just like he knew Zayn had all the potential in him to be more than what life had given him so far.

The second time he plays the piece, he lets go completely, feels the music pulse and glide across the room to an audience that is deathly silent, and to Zayn, where Liam can see that he’s sitting up straight in his seat, both hands curled around the armrests with a smile on his face.

It looks like Harry’s trying his best not to laugh at him, but Liam feels calm, like it’s all okay for once and that things are moving forward just as they ought to be.


End file.
